Rex's Wartime Wisdom
by lunathefrog
Summary: Just a little ficlet about Rex's armor and some curious kids. Originally written in my creative writing class... What can I say,with a few modifications, some prompts just fit fan fiction!


Everyone was throwing confetti, soldiers and spectators alike. All had smiles for the young, brave men who marched in rows of five by five. The city was abuzz with send-off celebrations. Trumpets blaired, filling the hearts of happy citizens in the crowd, hurting the ears of small children huddled in the front of the watchers. They held sweet summer flowers, given to them by doting parents, to give in turn to the men marching by. Seeing the children, the soldiers smiled and puffed out their chests in pride; some stopped to accept the wildflowers, or to throw more confetti.

An orange-haired girl, accompanied by her just as burnished older brother stood right behind the ropes keeping people out of the procession. She turned to him, her flushed and freckled face pinching with worry, "Where are they going?"

He sighed, feeling much too old for these celebrations, and said sarcastically, "Oh them? They're off to war, to kill all our enemies and bring back spoils for our city, of course."

She looked confused still, "I don't have any enemies, do I?" she asked, suddenly afraid.

Just then, a bright soldier with floppy brown hair scooped her up from the crowd, holding her aloft, smiling up at her, and shouting in a booming voice, "I shall return, my sweet sunshine! I shall slay the great dragon and we will elope to my grand castle!"

Everyone laughed, especially the girl in his arms, not yet old enough to smell the drink on his breath or the naive glint in his eye. The man put her down again, setting her next to her brother once again, ruffling her hair, and running to catch up with his regiment. Before he was out of sight, a dark man came along-side the column of marching men, not in the ranks.

He was clearly older than the rest, with closely cut white hair and the startings of a beard of the same shade. He glared around the street with hooded eyes that were so narrowed and dark, they looked black even in the bright summer sun. The armor that covered his body was not shiny, white or new from the looks of it. The pure white plating had faded to a dull grey, only broken up by the stripes of blue that marked which company he belonged in. There were scrapes and skids all over the legs and torso pieces, and the helmet under his arm was just as damaged. The only white left on him could only be seen up close, as the children did when he marched past them, not throwing a first glance to them. His helmet and vambraces, along with the required blue had other marks on them. Small white lines lined the entire surface, in small groups of five, a distinguishment few understood or obtained.

"What are those lines for?" the girl whispered shakily. The sun seemed to hide, for now she felt cold and could only stare at the weathered soldier and his tally marks.

He had heard her. She thought she had whispered it, but there was no mistaking, he stopped, swiveled, and slowly approached her, kneeling down to be level with her face.

"Those tallies, little sunshine, are for all the enemies I've killed in the field." His face did not smile when he called her 'sunshine', as the younger soldier's had, but he held a softness she did not expect. The sun was still shining, but the girl heard none of the raucous celebrations as she stared into the man's face, realizing the beard made him look severe, but he was probably not that much older than the rest of the men. The way he held himself added age, and also commanded respect.

"How many are there actually?" Her brother butt in, an arrogant pitch to his young voice, trying to sound impressive.

The soldier's eyes slowly roved onto him, and he shrank at the harshness in them. His sister noticed that the soldier's eyes were not black as she had thought, but a deep molten gold. The man let out the breath in his body with a hiss, "No one knows. Not even me," he said chidingly, "The goal in war is not to have the most tallies, but to have the fewest." And with that, he patted both their heads, and stood. Her brother looked down in shame, but the girl looked up still, and as the man turned back to the rest of the men, he sent her a quick quirk of the lips, almost a smile, and then fell back in step with his company.


End file.
